Guinevere
by Maroon1
Summary: There have been many legends of King Arthur, but the true legend that has remained forgotten is that of his love. Her tale is one wrought with pain and suffering and only a warrior fighting against her is her hope of salvation. This is Guinevere's tale.


**Disclaimer:**_Based very loosely on the 2004 film "King Arthur". I have adapted this to some extent and all that is in here apart from the basic characters is mine. This has little to do with the Legend of King Arthur, but was inspired by the film. This story is completly fictionous and in no way historically correct._

_**Summary:** There have been many legends of King Arthur and his Knights. But the true legend that has remained forgotten is that of his love. Her tale is one wrought with pain and suffering and only a warrior fighting against her is her hope of salvation. This is Guinevere's tale.

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**_Guinevere_ **

The wind whistled through her thick ebony hair and brushed against her pale skin. She stared out across the vast landscape of green rolling hills swirled in thin layers of midst. Her breaths melted into the fog as it passed over her and her bare skin prickled in the cold morning air. Across from her she could see the yellow orb rising out of a hill and passing through the dense grey clouds. She stood defiantly her arms at her side, her fists curled and her eyes narrowed, scanning the world beneath her. She lifted her bow and closed one eye, her other eye focusing on the object moving throughout the thin blades of grass.

She tugged at the bow and released, sending the arrow hurtling forwards, nestling itself in the wild boar, the creature slumped to the ground. She placed bow around her neck, and ran forward. The wind blew propelling her faster forwards, exhilaration pumped through her at her swiftness. She reached the boar, its eyes dulled, blood leaking out of its torso. It was still alive. She ripped the arrow from it, the boar grunted. From her ankle she grabbed a small dagger and swiftly swept it across the boars neck. She watched as the very last moments of life flew from it.

She reached her campsite and dropped the dead carcass to the ground. She grabbed some nearby branches and made a fire, soon the flames sauntered around the twigs. She pushed through the folds of the tent to the figure lying almost lifeless. She kneeled beside the man. She lifted his shirt to examine his bandage, it was still infected and he was still in the depths of his fever. She re-bandaged the wound, placing herbs beneath in a hope that the infection would stop. She brought some water to his parched lips, and the drops dripped down. His eyes flickered, but they were hazy she wondered if he knew where he was. "Guinevere," he murmured his eyes squinted then fell under the mask of his eyelids. "Shhhh," she soothed, "rest some more."

It was then that she realised he was not going to live, despite her best efforts to save him, the wound was too deep, she could not save him. She held his hand and waited. She sat with him through the rest of the day and night watching his life slowly flee him. He muttered her name but she knew it was futile to believe he would recover. In the early hours of the morning his eyelids flickered and his weak pulse faded. She stared at him for a while, not wanting to believe he was dead.

Later that day she buried his body, she mourned his loss of life until the last grain of dirt covered his body. He had died saving her, she felt responsible, she felt so useless for not being able to keep his life. But death was always around, lurking beneath the shadows waiting to claim its next victim. It had been written into destiny that he should die now and leave her all alone in the world. She would return to this place one day, and give him a proper grave. She could already feel his spirit rising out of the ground and into the air. She glanced back at the campsite, the only signs left behind the burnt ashes of wood. And so she continued her journey had started with five and now remained one, she had come too far now to go back. It was just as likely that she would be killed by the conditions out here as the soldiers.

He felt the power surge through him, the thrill the adrenaline pulsating through him as his sword swept from side to side. The smooth sword sliding through the flesh, blood flowing free as the bodies crumpled behind him. Red sprayed onto him, but he did not even stop to wipe the speckles from his cheek.

His armour was light and a spear could easily penetrate it, but his movements were too swift, too confident for even the greatest warrior of the opposing side to breach it. He suffered but a slash on his bare arm, but the slight pain only drove him on massacring his way through the persistent soldiers.

His men were not far behind him, their speed and strength although great was not that of his. The smell of fear and sweat filled his senses driving him on, he was a man possessed. He took no time to pause; to think would cause his downfall. Instead he relied on his natural instinct and the fluidity of his sweeping motions.

He stopped; it felt silent even though he could hear the clanging swords of those still fighting. He turned and brought he sword up just in time to block the man's attack. Their swords continued to clash until he knocked the man almost off balance. With one last lashing he sliced the sword through the man's neck. The man shouted out in pain and staggered backwards, falling to his knees. The defeated savage eyes burned into his murderer as his life fled him and he crumpled to the ground. His murderer knelt beside his enemy. The man was young, he had fought well if he had lived he would have grown into a fine soldier. But this was a war and the man fought for the enemy.

He trampled through the mangled corpses covering the land searching for the last drags. A few came at him swiftly but his sword lashed out with such ferocity that they never even stood a chance. Even after the last enemies blood was spilled he did not relax. His hand held firm on his sword and he walked towards his remaining men. He was exhausted but he would not let such a weakness overcome him.

The battle was over and he was victorious but not without the loss of many of his men. It had not been an easy fight the savages had fought well. Some of his soldiers were dragging those lost today onto a cart; it was piled high with limbs lifeless. Later that night they would burn the bodies, sending praise to the skies and remembering those who had been lost. Then the victory celebrations would begin.

He did not walk back to the camp but instead made his way into the nearby forest. The thick green trees had been a good cover for the savages, but they had not used it to their advantage. They should have lured his men into the unknown territory and perhaps the outcome might have differed.

He reached a flowing river, the water cascading down from the rocks behind. He stripped of his tunic and light armour before plunging his body into the cool water. It soothed his heated skin and washed the red from him. He glanced up and through the overshadowing trees he through he could see the form of a woman. Her feet were bare and she neared towards him, a thin light clouding her. She stepped onto the pool where he was; he stared in amazement, as this creature appeared to be walking on water. He lay motionless in the water. He realised the thin light was her thick white hair curling around her, her dress was a reflection of the green water. He could see his face reflected onto it. She stopped near him, before bending down and lifting some water to her mouth. Her eyes were the colour of water almost translucent. The corners of her lips lifted and he was captivated. "Artorius, you are a brave warrior. Fight for what lies in your heart. Beware of the white Fay, for that shall bring an end to your fight." Her words seemed to float around him echoing against the sound of the cascading waterfall.

"Who are you?" He asked breathlessly consumed by presence. The woman smiled, her hand reached out and brushed against his face. He felt warmth and light flood his senses, so consumed by these feelings; he did not notice the creature fade into the waterfall. When he awoke from his stupor of light, he glanced around frantically. Had he been so overwhelmed by fatigue that illusions had been playing on his mind?

He was not certain; it had seemed all so real. When he returned to the campsite that evening his thoughts were lost and the beautiful creature that had taken the form of a woman flooded his senses. What exactly had her words meant anyway? _Beware of the white Fay… _


End file.
